


Hondayota

by transtwinyards



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Post- The Dream Thieves, relationship tag depends on how you read the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtwinyards/pseuds/transtwinyards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We could call it the Hondayota,” Ronan grinned.</p><p>“That’s a terrible idea,” Adam said, but he was grinning too.</p><p>“Well, it’s a terrible car, and it’s a better name than shitbox.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hondayota

**Author's Note:**

> I worked this out because I am fucking down with cute little things like this AND NO ONE'S DONE IT SO I DID

It’s been a week since Adam’s begun fixing the ley line, and this was the first time that Ronan’s seen his new car.

The tri-colored piece of work was parked in a shady spot behind St. Agnes, and it wasn’t used as often as possible, because it was more susceptible to breaking down than it was to driving Adam to places he needed to be.

Adam smiled at its horribleness, because it was _his_ horribleness and it didn’t matter if it was horrible or wonderful or if it sounded like heaven or hell, because of three words: _It was his_.

It was not planned, his shitty car and Ronan Lynch’s meeting, because it’s been a well-kept secret since DC and Adam prided himself to be a person who could keep secrets hidden, because if someone like Ronan Lynch could do it, he could definitely do it too.

It was hidden, as it was always, behind trees and leaves that provided as a barrier from the Henrietta summer. But its three colors could not be camouflaged with shrubbery, and Ronan Lynch had eyesight as sharp as his grin.

Adam could pinpoint the moment he saw it, because there was a large gasp that was enough to upturn the whole town.

Ronan let out a laugh at was almost childlike in its conception, but it ended with a sharp edge, and it set itself back into what could be categorized as a Sound That Ronan Lynch Makes. Ronan ran for the shade and slid over the hood of the car like in one of those Transformer movies Adam drooled at when he was a child.

Adam felt that it was necessary to be categorized with things like the sounds that Ronan made when he was happy, because he was once told—a far gone memory, because he forgot who told him this—that we should all cherish the things that were rare.

“Parrish, this looks so _terrible_ , look at this shitbox!” Ronan exclaimed, but he had his sharp grin set at its sharpest, and it made the words in his mouth sound odd, so odd that it didn’t even matter to Adam that Ronan had just insulted his new car.

“So fucking terrible, worthy of the title of POS. Henrietta’s fucking finest is what this is,” Ronan continued, and Adam found himself smiling at Ronan’s horribleness more than his car’s. There was never a filter to that mouth, Adam thought. Ronan was probably born insulting the doctor.

It must have been a challenging delivery.

Ronan popped open the hood, but Adam knew that it was just more because Ronan wanted to see if it was shitty inside out, not to see what the engine looked like. Ronan’s love for cars was always diminished with his cluelessness with what was under the hood.

“What brand even _is_ this thing? I want to send them my regards. They really tried hard,” Ronan continued, and Adam felt a little odd that Ronan’s been cheerier since the cave, since Maura Sargent disappeared, since Adam found him in front of the man-made lake and told him _I knew it was you_.

Adam felt like something was coming at him a thousand miles per hour, and nothing was going to stop its momentum from hitting him.

“I think that’s the charm to it,” Adam said, crossing his arms across his chest. He was afraid something would pop out of him if he didn’t try to hold it back. “It’s supposed to be brand-less.”

Ronan, bent over the hood, didn’t even hesitate before saying, “Fuck your sentimentality, bard.”

Adam, his hands crossed over his chest and a smile plastered onto his face, didn’t hesitate either. “I’m a magician. Hand me a lute, _then_ I’m a bard.”

This was old game, this back-and-forth banter between them, and Adam felt some of the stress of the week slide off of his shoulders. It was good to settle back into the old when things began changing, too fast, too much.

Ronan stood back up, pushing up from the hood. He was glistening in the sunlight, his skin flushing in the heat of the sun. He looked sharp and king-like, and his grin was treacherous, and his eyes were shadowed, and he said, “You sure you don’t want a banjo?”

Adam rolled his eyes and threw a towel at him. “Don’t drip on my engine, you Neanderthal.”

Ronan caught the towel with his face and scoffed, “I could pour your powder coffee into this thing and it would _still_ sound terrible. My sweat’s not gonna change anything.”

“Out from under my hood, Lynch,” Adam said, turning to walk towards the BMW, because he knew that Ronan was here to bring him to Nino’s for the day. “If I get into your car, and you’re still not off of mine, I’m going to drive to Nino’s without you.”

No footsteps followed him, so he added, “Even if that means I have to hotwire, Lynch.”

Footsteps followed him after that, and Adam resisted laughing. The disbelief and mischief in Ronan’s voice was almost laughable. “You don’t know how to hotwire,” Ronan told him, but Adam heard the tone in his voice that said that he was doubting.

“I’m a mechanic, Lynch.”

“And full of shit, Parrish.”

Adam grabbed the handle to the passenger side door and looked at Ronan, contrasted against the sunlight behind him. He didn’t say anything, just looked at Ronan with what he hoped was a smug face that was punchable. It was easy to convince someone that he was confident about something, but Ronan was not just someone.

“Fuck you, Parrish,” Ronan strode to his side, wrenching open the door.

They were five minutes away from Nino’s, three minutes away from St. Agnes, and probable seconds away from a car crash when Ronan let out another gasp that nearly sounded delighted, and Adam thought that it was more surprising than a car crash ever could be.

“I know!” Ronan shouted over his shitty electronica. Adam gripped the handle by the roof and looked over at him. A car passed by, honking at them, and Ronan punched the horn just to say _fuck you_ right back at the person. 

“What?” Adam asked, not looking at Ronan anymore, gaze pinned on the road just in case

“We could call it the Hondayota,” Ronan grinned, his eyes glancing off the road. Adam heard that tone in his voice, one he knew as the sound that Ronan made when he was certain that a name was going to stick just because he named it so.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Adam said, but he was grinning too.

“Well, it’s a terrible car, and it’s a better name than shitbox.”

Adam thought it fit too, but he was too proud to tell Ronan that he was right for once.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! My tumblr is [here](http://stubbornjerk.tumblr.com).


End file.
